Aiden caught her eye. “Aren’t they supposed to send a formal demand for surrender?”
“They did,” Sergeant Oskar said. “Yesterday.”
Emily winced. “And they think you’re rebels,” she said. “Rebels have no rights.”
The speakers below evidently agreed with her. They loudly reminded their listeners that the royalists couldn’t be trusted, that aristocrats would break their word as soon as possible. They warned the troops, again and again, that they were all that stood between the city and an orgy of rape and slaughter. They dwelled on the topic again and again, shouting out lurid descriptions of atrocities that would have shamed a necromancer. Emily shuddered at one particularly vivid description, all too aware it was probably an understatement. The royalists intended to teach the city a lesson it would never forget.
She watched, grimly, as more and more enemy troops came into view. Dater was playing it smart, displaying his army - and his banner - without risking a clash his men might easily lose. She could hear the trumpets in the distance, each blast of the horn directing the troops into formation as they surrounded the city. Below her, the rebels yelled their defiance. It looked as if they were willing to fight. Emily wondered, morbidly, how many of the young men on both sides would be dead by the end of the day.
Aiden coughed. “Councilor!”
Emily turned, as Althorn made his way into the observation post. “Sergeant? Your thoughts?”
“Stalemate,” Sergeant Oskar said. “They can keep us in the city until we starve, unless we’re willing to commit to a major breakout, but they can’t breach the walls unless they’re willing to soak up immense losses or wait long enough to dam the river.”
“Or if they put gunpowder under the walls,” Emily said. The Union had done that during the Siege of Petersburg, if she recalled correctly. The attack had failed, but not because it had been a terrible idea. “Or they look for another way to get at you.”
Althorn frowned. “Good point,” he said. “Do they have many sappers?”
“No, but they could have recruited miners,” Sergeant Oskar said. “There are plenty of coal seams down south.”
Coal will fuel the industrial revolution, when things really get started, Emily mused, as Althorn beckoned her back down the stairs. And then there’ll be no way to put the genie back in the bottle.
“I have to ask,” Althorn said. His voice was polite, but there was an edge to his tone that suggested he was deeply worried. “Why are you still here?”
Emily hesitated, unsure what to say. She didn’t have a role any longer, as far as everyone outside her select group knew. She didn’t want to lie to him, either. And yet...
She kept her voice low. “Someone is manipulating both sides,” she said. “And if I can find him, I can try to stop the coming bloodbath.”
“The royalists will not stop,” Althorn said. “And we will not surrender.”
“Yes,” Emily agreed. “But if I can catch the person responsible, I can use it as leverage to convince the White Council to put pressure on the royalists.”
Althorn laughed, humorlessly. “It won’t work,” he said. “There’s no amount of leverage the council - or anyone - can bring to bear that’ll make up for loss of their ancestral lands and titles. If they go into exile, the best they can hope for is being powerless petitioners. That never ends well for anyone.”
“I have to try,” Emily said. She reached out gingerly with her senses. There was nothing to suggest that Althorn himself had been influenced by the unknown enemy, although she knew that was meaningless. He could have been influenced without magic. “It might be enough to save the day...”
“You can try,” Althorn said. He shrugged. “And that was...”
The ground shook. A crack of thunder echoed through the air. Emily glanced around and saw a giant fireball rising from the far side of the city. A bomb... a big bomb. Had someone just blown up the gunpowder stockpile? She couldn’t imagine anything worse, not now. Gunpowder was relatively easy - if disgusting - to make, but it took time. How long did they have before the royalists tried to scale the walls? She didn’t know.
Althorn muttered a curse. “We need to move.”
Emily followed him as he ran, picking his way through the barricades. The tension in the city seemed to have gotten worse. She saw a man being interrogated by a pair of armed soldiers, apparently for being out of his district when the balloon went up. She had a feeling the poor guy was going to be hanged - or worse - just for sheer bad luck. Eyes followed her as they ran, some unfriendly. She wondered how many people blamed her for the chaos. Councilor Triune might not be the only one who blamed everything on her.
Not that he said it to my face, she recalled as they reached the palace. A mob outside the walls was loudly demanding something, although their demands were so varied it was hard to tell what they really wanted. The guards were taking up defensive positions, eyes nervous as they watched everyone passing through the gates. He barely paid any attention to me at all.
Jair was standing by the palace gates, reading a note. He looked relieved to see Althorn, then suspicious when his eyes lighted on Emily. He didn’t know - she thought - that she’d read his mind, but... he had reason to be paranoid. She was an aristocrat in her own right, even though she’d been ennobled rather than inheriting the title. And she was sheltering Prince Hedrick.
“That was the northern food store,” Jair growled. “The royalist scum blew it up!”
Emily shuddered. She’d known Dater would look for an easy way to weaken the defenders. Taking out the food supplies was perhaps the simplest, although... it would leave him with the problem of feeding the city if it surrendered. Perhaps he’d decided to let the population starve, in hopes of teaching any future rebels a lesson. Perhaps...
Jair’s eyes hardened. “Hand over Prince Hedrick,” he ordered. “It is time for him to pay for his crimes.”
“You haven’t revoked his safe conduct,” Emily said. Standing on legalities wasn’t likely to impress him, but... there was no point in making matters worse. “You can order him out of the city. You can’t drag him out of the house and hang him.”
Jair’s fists clenched. “We can’t?”
“No,” Althorn said. “But we can deal with the queen. There’s nothing to be gained by keeping her alive any longer.”
Emily looked at him, searching for an argument. “That might be what Dater wants,” she said, finally. “If you kill her, he gets to turn her into a martyr without having to deal with her himself.”
“She fucked him,” Jair said. “I...”
“Do you really believe that crap?” Emily forced herself to calm down. “Do you really?”
“She must answer for her crimes,” Althorn said. “And quickly, before the battle begins.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“KILL THE WHORE! KILL THE WHORE!”
Emily shuddered as the mob shouted louder and louder, their voices blurring together into a single terrifying roar. The troops had pushed the mob back far enough to set up a makeshift courtroom, in the open air in front of the palace, but it was all too clear it wouldn’t be long before the angry crowd surged forward. They were shouting so loudly she was convinced Prince Hedrick would hear, back in the house. She hoped he wouldn’t do anything stupid.
Aiden looked pale as she stepped up beside Emily. The mob’s chant had to be getting to her too. It was growing increasingly graphic, with all kinds of vile suggestions of precisely how the queen should be killed. Emily surveyed the council, noting that Jair seemed amused while the remainder looked concerned or fearful. She doubted any of them really cared about the queen herself, but they’d have to expect Dater to make some response to her death. And the hell of it, Emily thought, was that Dater might be secretly hoping the queen would be killed as well.
Those rumors aren’t going to go away, no matter what happens, Emily thought. The accusations of incest would be brought up, time and time again. Dater will have to send her
and his stepsisters away, just to keep the rumors from weakening his marriage and threatening his throne.
She shook her head in disgust. King Randor had kept a small army of mistresses, and at least one bastard son, but... he’d been a man. And he hadn’t been accused of incest. The very thought was sickening... no wonder so many people had decided to assume the rumors were true. One couldn’t disprove a negative. Nor would anyone believe the queen’s denials. Only a complete lunatic would admit to such charges, true or false. They’d expect her to say the charges were nothing more than a tissue of lies.
I could get her out, she thought. It would be easy enough. She could grab the queen and trigger the amulet. The handful of wards Storm and his fellow sorcerers had raised wouldn’t be enough to stop her. But I couldn’t return to the city...
A gasp ran through the air as Queen Francoise was pushed into the light by a pair of burly soldiers. Someone had dressed her in a royal gown, but they’d torn it open to expose the tops of her breasts to the watching eyes. Her face was scrubbed clean, all traces of powder and cosmetics - such as they were - removed. She looked more like a scullery maid than a regal lady. Emily’s heart went out to her as she was shoved forward. Normally, it was death to touch a queen without permission. The guards probably had orders to make it clear that Queen Francoise no longer had any power. Or protection.
The chant started again, more ominous even though it was quieter. Emily glanced at Althorn, then Aiden. Althorn looked grim. Aiden’s face was a mask so perfect Emily knew she was upset. She’d probably known the queen in her previous life, although they’d hardly been friends. It was strange to realize that Queen Francoise wasn’t that much older than Aiden or Emily herself. King Jorlem had wanted a younger wife and gotten one.
Jair took a step forward as Queen Francoise was pushed into the dock, her hands shackled to the wood. Emily shuddered. It was pointless sadism, if only because there was nowhere to run. The queen would be torn apart the moment the mob got its hands on her. She wondered why the rebels were even bothering with the farce of a trial. Would it win time for them to deal with the aftermath of the bombing? Plot a counterattack to drive the royalists away from the city? Or... or what? Perhaps they just wanted to make sure no one could back out, not now. They’d all have the queen’s blood, as well as the king’s, on their hands.
And Dater will be happy to make use of her, once she’s safely dead, Emily thought. She was so sick of aristocratic morons and power-mad wizards who thought power gave them the right to do whatever they liked to the rest of the world. No one will dare raise the old rumors once they’re no longer useful.
Jair cleared his throat, loudly. The crowd quietened rapidly. Too rapidly. Emily’s eyes narrowed. Jair had probably raised the crowd himself, then seeded it with ringers to make sure it demanded whatever he wanted. The queen’s death or... anything, anything at all.
“Goodwoman Francoise,” Jair said. The crowd tittered. “How do you plead?”
Queen Francoise looked at him, but said nothing. Her eyes were vacant, as if she’d been drugged or cursed. Emily reached out with her senses, just to check. There was nothing, beyond a faint tracking spell to make sure she couldn’t escape. It was one that would have to be renewed regularly or it would expire.
“You have been accused of a number of serious charges,” Jair pressed. “How do you plead?”
Emily felt a surge of disgust. She just didn’t like Jair. She understood him, she understood his motivations, and yet... he had gone too far. Queen Francoise was harmless now that her husband was dead. Her stepsons - Dater, at least - considered her a liability. She would serve the royalist cause far better as a martyr than a living person...
“How do you plead?” Jair smirked. “Do you wish to plead guilty, or guilty?”
The crowd laughed. Emily couldn’t take it any longer.
She stepped forward, into the square. “What are the charges?”
Jair blinked in surprise. The crowd seemed to recoil, unsure of what was going on. Emily was morbidly aware many of them admired her, but... how many of them knew it was her? Jair seemed equally unsure of himself. If he pushed ahead, against her, he might lose control of the crowd. Emily didn’t dare give him time to think, to reason the crowd might not know who she was or what she was doing. She had to try...
“What are the charges?” She allowed a hint of amusement to enter her voice, drawing on the memories of her own trial. “She cannot answer charges if she doesn’t know what they are.”
The crowd laughed, seemingly unsure which way to move. Emily thought she heard dissent, voices urging the crowd to jump one way or the other, but she didn’t dare look for fear of losing her nerve. She knew she could escape, or even render the crowd harmless, yet... she forced herself to keep her eyes on Jair. She’d just have to fake confidence until she actually felt confident.
Jair cleared his throat, loudly. “The goodwoman” - the crowd tittered - “has been accused of a number of crimes, ranging from stealing from the taxpayers’ treasury to high treason, immodest behavior, mistreatment of her servants and incest with her stepsons. These charges have been confirmed by witness reports...”
Emily smiled. “There were witnesses to incest?”
The crowd laughed, again. Jair’s face darkened. “There are witnesses to many of these charges,” he said. He brandished a sheet of paper as though it were a weapon. “I have a detailed outline of the royal accounts, written down by a former treasury accountant who was sacked for refusing to honor the demand for money. He states that the goodwoman took money from the accounts and spent it on dresses, parties and orgies! I have here” - another sheet of paper - “a signed statement confirming that the goodwoman encouraged her husband to crack down on the people, when they finally demanded their rights. And I have here...”
“And none of these people would have any reason to lie?” Emily made a show of rolling her eyes. “Perhaps we should ask her ourselves?”
“You cannot believe anything that spews from a whore’s mouth,” Jair snapped. “She...”
“There are truth spells,” Emily said. She turned and cast one over Queen Francoise. “If she lies, the air around her will turn red.”
“Oh, really?” Jair glowered at Storm. “Is she telling the truth?”
Storm looked displeased at being caught between the two, but nodded reluctantly. “Yes.”
Emily allowed herself a flash of relief. “Queen Francoise,” she said. She ignored Jair’s snort at the title. “Did you have any form of intimate relationships with either of your stepsons?”
“No,” Queen Francoise said. Her voice was weak, but stronger than Emily had feared. “I have never had intimate relationships with anyone, apart from the king.”
“Goodman Jorlem,” Jair hissed.
“To be clear,” Emily said. She’d been taught to triangulate, just to ensure there was no room for half-truths and loophole abuse. “You have never had sex with anyone, apart from your lawful husband?”
“Yes,” Queen Francoise said. “Just him.”
“Poor bugger,” someone shouted.
Emily looked past Jair, at the council. “How many other charges do you think will hold up?”
Jair reddened, but pushed on. “Goodwoman, did you urge your husband to crack down on the rebels?”
The queen hesitated. “I believed it was the right thing to do,” she said. She paused, clearly trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t be a lie, but wouldn’t look bad either. “I...”
“So you did!” Jair stabbed a finger at Queen Francoise. “Do you know how many people died because of you?”
“Wait,” Emily said. “Queen Francoise. How much authority did you have? As queen?”
“Very little,” Queen Francoise managed. “I could command my maids, but not issue orders to my husband and his council. I could only advise.”
“And one of your maids claimed she was slapped so hard she went blind in one eye,” Jair said, coldly. “Is tha
t true?”
Queen Francoise flinched. “I didn’t mean to do it!”
“But it was what you did, was it not?” Jair glanced at his paper. “You brutalized your maids and servants. You had your men beat them, when they did not move fast enough to suit you. You even struck noblewomen... even some of their men. You made them work all day and denied them food, you harassed them and even forced them to prostitute themselves to survive. You even treated your companions like shit. What were they to you? Whipping girls? Or did you glean a kind of sick pleasure from watching them grovel in front of you?”
Jair addressed the crowd. “This woman is not a good woman at all.”
“But she had very little influence,” Emily countered. It was hard not to wonder if she’d made a mistake. Slapping someone hard enough to damage their eye... she found it hard to imagine any sort of justification. What had the queen been thinking? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “You are blaming her for something beyond her control. You might as well blame the farmer for poor weather.”
“She was a parasite,” Jair said, flatly. “She spent her days trying on new dresses, while the common folk wore rags. She spent hundreds of gold coins on a custom-designed necklace, while countless families couldn’t afford to feed themselves. She issued promissory notes, backed by taxpayers’ money, without even a glimmer of intent to pay them back. She abused her maids, beating and slapping them at will... she even put them out on the streets, when they grew too old to serve her. She deserves to face justice for her crimes!”
The crowd roared. It was growing tired of the argument. Emily could feel angry eyes burning into her head. The mob wanted blood and it wanted it soon. The people might not care, much, about the queen’s wealth and how she spent it, but they hated how she’d treated her servants. Emily didn’t blame them. Queen Francoise deserved some sort of punishment. But did she deserve to die?
The Right Side of History (Schooled In Magic Book 22) Page 30